


Bath Salt Stings.

by milkglass



Category: Boyfriend to Death (Visual Novels)
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Depression, Imagine it as any character you'd like, No Plot/Plotless, Reader is having a pretty tough go of it, Reader-Insert, Referenced amputation, Short, no names are mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:34:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25789672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/milkglass/pseuds/milkglass
Summary: A bath was usually supposed to be relaxing- warm, and gentle. That's how other people saw it, anyway.But you?You couldn't feel anything past the dread.
Kudos: 11





	Bath Salt Stings.

Heaven has a plan, you know. Lists upon lists, words etched into any space they could fit. Paths, branches, scripts... all of it. There was a plan, and it has _everything_.

The water, lukewarm at best, bobbed slightly. Rising to accommodate the body sinking itself further down, it put the base of your neck at foam level, give or take. The faucets had never worked properly, fuckin' things, leaving warm baths with any semblance of comfort a thing of the past. One more thing to lose, one less thing to have. Stray beads of water dripped into the tub, almost rhythmically. Eventually it would cool down the water even further, but you couldn't bring yourself to care. After all, what's some chilliness to a bath that barely even counted as mild? not even mentioning the fact that bathing was so borderline foreign and far between nowadays, that it made no lick of difference.

Not only that, it was less 'bathing' and more 'marinating in your own filth for an hour.'

**drip.**

Filth that never really left, no matter how hard you'd scrub it. Even when the skin was rubbed raw, and covered in angry red blotches.

**drip.**

Filth that only built up, on those days where he decided to help. That's what he called it, ' _helping_.' Helping you take great, great care of yourself- making sure you weren't too grimy for your own good.

**drip.**

Making sure you were still as obedient as ever.

**drip.**

Making sure you couldn't writhe around as much, what with those hacked stumps attached to your bottom half. Any attempts to thrash around were stopped pretty quickly, considering how much the stitches stung even against the piss poor amount of soap poured into the water. You decided, for your own wellness, to bite your tongue and be _amicable_. He was nice enough to change the brand to something a little less irritating, next time. That's worth something, at least. The very, very least.

**drip.**

You stayed true to your promise. No more thrashing, be it of the pitiful nubs you once called legs or even your arms. You didn't want to risk putting those on the roster, knowing full well you needed any limbs you could get. It's a weird feeling, having to be protective over your own body parts.

Even that started fading away, though. You didn't have much to be protective over- not now, anyway.

**drip.**

Slipping lower and lower below the water, the extra space freed up below your thighs made it much easier for your body to lay flat at the bottom surface. If it was worth anything, you felt a little warmer down there than you did with your body afloat. Hell, it was almost comforting, until you heard the telltale sounds of frantic footsteps. He was never far behind, that one. Always keeping an eye on you. How _chivalrous_ , in it's own little way. Feeling his hands grab your hair, you didn't even bother to sputter, knowing he'd force the water out of your throat regardless. That would be far too easy.

He was protective, so you didn't have to be.

**drip.**

**drip.**

**drip.**

Heaven has a plan. It just happens to be a really shitty one.


End file.
